


Forgive Me

by I May Age Regress (shnuffeluv)



Series: Other Side [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Apologies, Forgiveness, Gen, Monopoly (Board Game), Non-Sexual Age Play, Old Writing, Pacifiers, Sherlock gets his redemption arc, Teddy Bears, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 22:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6677809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/I%20May%20Age%20Regress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Mycroft have a plan to get Sherlock to apologize for treating Mycroft badly for so long. Will it work?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock hummed as he looked at his computer, then up at John, who was quite clearly texting his brother on his phone. He was bored. "Bored!" he shouted, because John wasn't picking up on any of his hints.

"Uh-huh."

John had apologized stiffly for his outburst at Mycroft's house some time ago, but he and Sherlock were still on thin ice, and 

Sherlock wasn't sure why. "John."

The man looked up at his flatmate.

"I'm bored."

"I heard you the first time. Am I supposed to do something for you to fix that?" he scoffed.

"...Yes?" Sherlock said.

"You're more like a kid than your brother," John sighed, going back to his phone.

"I'm nothing like my brother!" Sherlock snapped.

"No," John said, smiling. "Because your brother has a shred of decency in him, has more patience than you ever will, and, on top of all that, is _still_ more mature than you are when he's in his little headspace."

Sherlock scoffed. "He's still a freak. I'm glad he's not dead, but he's...freakish."

"That's enough," John barked.

Sherlock tilted his head. "Fascinating. So you're ordering _me_ around now? What good will that do?"

"Well, if I'm very lucky, you'll stop acting like Westboro Baptist Church in America," John retorted. "And, if somehow the universe is aligned in just the right position, you'll realize what a terrible person you've been and apologize to your brother."

"Westboro...Baptist...Church?" Sherlock asked, pulling up Google. His eyes widened at the search results. "I don't act like that!" he protested.

John didn't respond.

"Okay, maybe a little, but not to that extreme!"

"Sherlock, you don't know anything about your own brother." John put down his phone. "Has he been to a doctor in the last 2 months?"

"Of course not. He never gets sick."

"Wrong. He's been twice, both times to refill prescriptions and make sure that he wasn't engaging in risky behaviors. Like trying to kill himself. Again. Which, may I remind you, _you_ contributed to! What does he do every morning when he first gets up?"

"How'm I supposed to know that?!"

"He makes sure you're still alive! I've said often enough that we text each other in the early hours of the morning about how you're doing. What's his favorite color?"

Sherlock scoffed. "You know I don't concern myself with trivia."

John growled and stood up. "Purple. It's purple." He left. "I can't stay here like this."

* * *

Mycroft was surprised to see John on the other side of his door the same afternoon they were texting, but considering John was ranting about Sherlock being rude again, not overly so. "John! Come in. Would you like some tea?"

John sighed and walked in, shaking his head. "No, I just want somewhere...non-judgmental to breathe."

"I know the feeling," Mycroft chuckled, closing the door. "Just needing to decompress. That's actually why I'm not in the office today."

"Well, Sherlock has good timing, then," John chuckled.

"Is he still calling me a freak?" Mycroft asked, while heading to the kitchen.

"Uh...well, yes," John said uncomfortably.

"Figured as much, to be honest," Mycroft shrugged. "Sure you don't want tea?"

"Yeah, I'm really okay," John sighed. "Just sick and tired of all of Sherlock's 'high and mighty crap'. He should know better than to call someone a freak. _He_ hates it, he should realize others will have the same reactions he does."

Mycroft sighed. "I tried from a young age to explain that to him, it never worked." Mycroft made a cup of tea for himself. "Suppose I can blame myself for that or Sherlock's stubbornness?"

"That seems like Sherlock's fault," John said.

Mycroft mock-scoffed. "Will you ever let me blame myself for something again?"

"When you're to blame, yes, absolutely," John assured. "That's what daddies are for. To let you know what's right and what's wrong. But you're not in the wrong. So don't blame yourself."

Mycroft turned red at the mention of _daddies_. "Do you...today?"

John shrugged. "I'm always up for it if you are."

Mycroft looked into his tea and frowned. "You just seemed to imply..."

"Yeah. I realize. I was, a little bit. I'm angry on behalf of my little boy."

Mycroft smirked and gave John a cheeky grin. "Why, Daddy? Are you the only one who can tease me?"

John laughed and all the tension in the room dissipated. "No, that's not why," he chuckled.

Mycroft laughed a little before stopping and staring into space. "Everything's upstairs..." An open offer.

"Oh. Well, let's get it, then." Acceptance. A starting point.

Mycroft went upstairs and walked into his bedroom, where his nappies were sitting, still in the package, in his dresser. He reached for a disposable, then hesitated and pulled out one of the new cloth ones. He pulled it tight and secured the Velcro, grabbing a pair of plastic pants and sliding them up his legs and securely over the nappy. He felt a few faded memories of when he was young enough to be wearing these the first time around, and smiled faintly. He took a few steps, noting the rustle of the plastic pants with a mix of fear and thrill. He walked down the steps to the first floor where John was waiting. "Deciding to break in the cloth ones?" John asked.

Mycroft nodded and pulled on the waistband of the plastic pants. "They're bringing back old memories," he shrugged.

"I'm not surprised, the way you associate," John said. "Do you want to play?"

Mycroft nodded slowly. "Think we could play chess or something?"

"Chess works," John agreed. "Where's your set?"

Mycroft was about to answer when his phone started ringing. He strode over to answer it. "Holmes...Sherlock, I don't have time for whatever you want. I'm busy...you'd be surprised what I can do from the safety of my own home." Mycroft paled at Sherlock's next statement. "You're _where?!"_ He looked over to John and mouthed _He says he's outside the house right now!_

John looked out the window leading into the hallway and drew the curtains shut, going into other rooms and doing the same. And outside the living room window, he saw Sherlock, talking into his cell phone. John felt his anger rise up and wanted to open the window and give him a piece of his mind, but he wouldn't give Sherlock that satisfaction. He just closed the curtains on the final window and walked back to Mycroft. "All clear," he whispered to Mycroft. "He won't be able to see in."

"Look, Sherlock, I've gotta go. Listen--no, I have to _go_..." He growled. "Just _leave me alone, for once, when I ask!_ " He slammed the phone down on the receiver and turned to John. "I'm not in trouble for that, am I?" he asked.

John shook his head. "Why do you keep on thinking you're going to be in trouble?"

"I have a short temper," Mycroft admitted.

"But at least you acknowledge it," John pointed out. "And try to keep it in check. I won't punish you for sometimes slipping up unless it's a _really_ bad slip up."

Mycroft nodded. A pounding on the door started up. "I'm not answering that," Mycroft said.

"Neither am I," John replied. "Come on, let's go. Where's your chess set?"

"Study," Mycroft said, and the two walked up the stairs together to get there, starting a game. They heard the door swing open downstairs, and Mycroft sighed. "He found the key."

"Apparently," John said simply. "I'm glad you put that out there, though."

Mycroft grunted noncommittally and made his move. John was a surprisingly good chess player. For all his flaws, chess was not one of them. Sherlock burst through the door to the study, and growled when he saw the scene before him. "Looks like I'm not the one with an addiction, brother dear," he snarled.

Mycroft bristled. "Go away, Sherlock. I'm busy."

Sherlock laughed. "With what? This...thing?"

"Yes," Mycroft said simply. "And if you don't like it you know where the door is."

Sherlock pulled out his phone, took a picture, and left. "I got what I came for."

"What a jerk," Mycroft muttered once he was gone.

"Tell me about it," John agreed. "But I have a plan..."

* * *

Sherlock paced the living room that evening, agitated, when an item on the table caught his eye. "What's this? Something left by a client?" he asked aloud.

John looked up and frowned. "Sherlock, that's--"

"No, don't tell me," Sherlock interrupted, starting his deductions on the offending object, a pocket watch. _Owner in mid 40s, isolated with one or two friends, younger brother who's an addict, and he-statistically more likely-worries. Has a secret obsession but the brother knows and doesn't agree with it. They fight about it, and he's on antidepressants, partially because of those fights, partially because he is-no, was-suicidal and hated his obsession almost as much as his brother did if not more--_ The watch was snatched out of his hands, with a, "I'll have that back, thank you," from his brother, who had chosen that moment to interrupt his evening.

Sherlock blinked. The watch was...Mycroft's? Mycroft had been suicidal for some time and was on antidepressants? When had this happened?! Sherlock tried to find something to say, but Mycroft was already gone.

What had he done?

* * *

Mycroft was lying back on his couch as John read a book next to him when John received a text. "Sherlock's outside again. Shall we see if our plan worked?"

Mycroft nodded and got up. "Should you answer it or should I?"

"I will," John assured. "Why don't you stay here?"

Mycroft shook his head. "I'd rather have some comfort, even if I wind up being mocked for it."

John nodded. "I'll take him to your room, then?"

Mycroft nodded, and the two went their separate ways in the house. While John was answering the door, Mycroft was getting comfortable on his bed, holding his dummy in one hand and his security blanket in the other. He didn't want to sit here and just let Sherlock see him, but John was convinced their plan would work. That didn't mean Mycroft had to like this bit, though. He got up from his bed and crawled under it. It was safer under here, at least here the only abuse he could get was verbal or emotional. He curled up and felt the need to pee, just going and letting the diaper do the work of keeping him mostly dry. Two sets of footsteps came up the stairs and Mycroft's stomach flipped. John came in the room first, standing post by the door. Sherlock came in second, slower. Much slower. Mycroft didn't move. Sherlock knelt down at the edge of the bed and looked under. "Hey," he said.

Mycroft didn't say anything, just scowled. He was still mad at Sherlock, he couldn't deny that. Scared of him, sure, but definitely angry, too. Sherlock bit his lip. "Are you...okay?"

"No thankth to you," Mycroft grumbled, putting his dummy in his mouth.

He could feel John's stare even without seeing it. He didn't apologize, though. "I have a, uh, peace offering, of sorts," Sherlock said.

Mycroft came a little bit closer to the edge of the bed. "What sort of peathe offering?" he asked.

"W-w-well...I know that you don't really...like extravagances, and, uh, John was talking with me earlier this week, and...er..." he shook his head. "Screw it--"

"Oi! No swearing in front of children!" John interrupted.

Mycroft laughed when Sherlock turned to John, shocked. "He's not--" Sherlock started, but stopped himself. "Er, that argument isn't why I'm here right now." He pulled his hand out from behind his back and turned back to Mycroft. "I figured you of all people wouldn't spend 5 pounds for a source of comfort outside a dummy, and you'd only by that when you couldn't even use the previous one, so I got you a teddy bear. John said your favorite color was purple?"

The boy nodded underneath the bed and rolled out from underneath it, running a hand through his messy hair as John pointed it out chuckling. He reached for the bear. "It'th reawwy...mine?" he confirmed.

Sherlock nodded and passed the bear over. "It needs a name. Anything come to mind?"

Mycroft squeezed the bear and considered. "Joth," he muttered. "'Cauthe I like Joth Whedon'th _Firefwy_."

" _Firefly,_ huh?" Sherlock said absently, taking the image of his brother in for the first time in years. "Erm, your...your nappy is soaking," Sherlock said, wrinkling his nose.

"Oh, er, I should take care of that," John said. "Sherlock, do you mind giving us a minute?"

Sherlock left the room quickly, an odd look on his face. John made Mycroft lean back on the floor and asked, "This is okay, right?"

The boy nodded. "I'm not thure Therwock'th okay with thith," he mumbled.

John cleaned Mycroft up and put a fresh cloth nappy on him. "Yeah, well, I didn't expect him to accept it right away, just for him to try. Which is what he's doing. Give him some leeway."

"Yes, sir," Mycroft mumbled.

John ruffled Mycroft's head. "I've told you, you don't have to call me sir."

Mycroft shrugged and hugged his new teddy bear. "I was hopin' he'd apowogise," he admitted. "Outright, I mean."

"He still might," John assured. "Now why don't you go out there and play with him?"

Mycroft nodded and stood, walking to the door slowly, and opening it even slower. Sherlock looked at him and nodded. "So, er...what now?"

"I have some games. Wanna play?" Mycroft offered.

"Only if John plays too, because he's an expert at it. Almost a challenge."

Mycroft snickered at the _almost_ and John gave him a light smack on the head. "Oi, I said to play, not to mock me," he teased.

Sherlock bit his lip. "Do you have Monopoly?" he asked.

Mycroft nodded and went downstairs, opening what John affectionately called "the Harry Potter closet", a closet underneath the stairs where he hid board games. He pulled out Monopoly and presented it to Sherlock, who had followed him down.

Sherlock blinked and slowly took the box. "Erm, listen, Mycroft...I want to apologize. For what I said all those years ago. I...uh, didn't realize I had that much of an effect on your emotional state, and I'm sorry for making you self-destructive. I don't want you dead. Sorry for saying so."

Mycroft squeezed Joss and looked to the floor, tears pricking his eyes. Sherlock put the game down and awkwardly tried to hug his brother. "Forgive me?" he requested.

Mycroft nodded, sniffling. Of course he did. This was Sherlock. He said stupid things he didn't mean all the time.

Sherlock tried to extricate himself from Mycroft, but Mycroft whimpered the second he let go, and Sherlock was forced to continue hugging him. "You're a clingy child, aren't you?" Sherlock chuckled.

Mycroft nodded furiously. John had told him as much.

"Now, let's play that game, shall we?" Sherlock proposed.

Mycroft nodded silently and gestured for Sherlock to choose where to play. John smiled from the top of the stairs, glad the brothers were at least mildly getting along.


	2. Chapter 2

"Okay, so if I rolled an 11, that lands me on..." Sherlock moved his piece. "Free Parking!" he exclaimed.

Mycroft and John groaned. Sherlock took the money from the center of the board and counted it up "100 quid...very nice," he said, smiling.

"Just wait until you land on a railroad," Mycroft sulked. "I'll get you then."

"You wish, brother dear," Sherlock laughed. "You're just mad that I have hotels on half my properties!"

"Am not!" Mycroft exclaimed.

"Are too!" Sherlock shot back.

"All right, boys, please," John interrupted.

Mycroft continued to sulk, chewing on Joss' ear. "He cheatth. Awwayth hath."

"Have not," Sherlock said with glee. "You just suck at board games."

"Sherlock, watch your language carefully," John reminded him. "Children have ears too."

Mycroft looked pleased when John called him a child, so Sherlock didn't say anything, just put his money in the stack he had built and passed the dice to Mycroft. Mycroft rolled and got a gleam in his eyes when he landed on the last available property. "I'm buying it!" he declared, passing the needed money to John. John in turn handed him the property. Mycroft grinned at Sherlock. "I have more properties than you," he gloated.

"That doesn't mean anything in this game, it's all about which properties you have," Sherlock said quickly.

"That'th what they aww say," Mycroft brushed off. "That meanth nothing."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and moved to stand in front of Mycroft, his face completely impassive. "You know what happens to sore winners, don't you?"

Mycroft frowned and slowly shook his head. Sherlock grinned and took his index fingers, digging them into Mycroft's sides. Mycroft full-out squealed and wound up wetting himself in shock. Sherlock went back to his stack of money and properties, pleased with himself. Mycroft pouted. "Joooohn," he whined, but John was laughing so hard he was crying.

Between gasps John said, "Oh...I wish I could have recorded that!"

Mycroft pouted further and Sherlock turned indignant. John waved them off and rolled the dice. He landed on one of the railroads, and reluctantly gave Mycroft half the money he had left. "I need to pass go soon," he sighed with a shake of his head.

Mycroft and Sherlock looked at each other with a grin and proudly announced, "You just did," at the same time.

John rolled his eyes. "Will you two let me give up?"

Mycroft wore his biggest grin as he shook his head. Sherlock simply scoffed. John sighed and let the two duke it out to see who could make him bankrupt faster. Having a common enemy seemed to make them get along easier. But eventually, Mycroft forced John out of the game, and then Sherlock, making him the Monopoly Champion of the day. "All right, what should we do now?" John asked in the hopes that he could stop Sherlock's sulk.

Sherlock didn't respond, but Mycroft was out of his chair like a shot and running to...somewhere. "Careful!" John called after him.

Mycroft skidded back into the room, nearly slipping in socked feet, and dumped colored pencils and paper onto the coffee table. John stared up at him. "You're helping to clean this up, you know."

"I know," Mycroft panted, sitting down on the floor and taking a grey pencil to start sketching.

Sherlock sat down next to him on the floor and took his own piece of paper, and a green pencil, making geometric designs. John shook his head and grabbed a sheet, and a red pencil and formed words into different shapes, of other objects. When he got bored with this, he looked over at what Mycroft was doing, and gawped. "Woah. Mycroft, that is excellent!"

Mycroft ducked his head and continued sketching out the moon in the sky he was making, coloring in the more defined shadows and blending them with his fingers. John allowed it until Mycroft started _sucking_ on said graphite-coated fingers. "All right, sweetheart, if you're going to start eating the pencils, you're probably done for the day."

Mycroft pouted. "But--"

"No buts, young man. Go to the bathroom and wash your hands."

Mycroft grumbled and went to the bathroom, washing his hands and coming back to the living room, where Sherlock and John had all but cleared everything up. "I wanted to color more," he whined.

Sherlock did a double take at this but John just shook his head. "Sweetheart, even I can tell you were spacing out, and that you need to sleep some. When's the last time you let yourself nap for more than an hour?"

"2 days ago," Mycroft mumbled.

John narrowed his eyes, not amused. "Care to repeat that so Daddy can hear you?"

"2 days," Mycroft repeated, louder.

John shook his head. "Right. You are taking a nap, and can play with Sherlock and Daddy more when you've actually rested. Not up for discussion."

Mycroft groaned. "But _whyyyyy_?"

"Because little boys need their rest," John said firmly, guiding Mycroft up the stairs to his bed. "I'll wake you up when it's time for dinner if you're not up by then, all right? Sherlock and I will be downstairs. Talking about grown-up things, most likely. But don't be afraid to interrupt."

Mycroft nodded slowly, already getting tired just sitting on his bed. John gave him his dummy and Joss and let him sleep on top of the covers, just pulling a blanket over him. Mycroft fell asleep peacefully, the first time he could remember doing so in a while. He enjoyed it, because he knew when he got up he's have a semblance of family to be with.


End file.
